


Hang On To Me

by isengard



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Bondage, M/M, this is awful, turn away
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:12:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isengard/pseuds/isengard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for <a href="http://merthurlin.tumblr.com">Maayan</a>, who wanted bondage porn and got this nonsense 2 days later oops</p>
    </blockquote>





	Hang On To Me

**Author's Note:**

> for [Maayan](http://merthurlin.tumblr.com), who wanted bondage porn and got this nonsense 2 days later oops

"You sure about this?"

"Actually, I think I've changed my mind since you asked three seconds ago," Ollie quips, looking thoughtfully up at his restraints. "Uncuff me, I'm gonna go see Laurel."

John snorts and runs a hand lightly down the taut muscle lining Ollie's side, feeling the irregular lumps of raised scars that burn under his fingertips and send a flash of hot anger straight to his dick. Ollie breathes in steadily, watching him with something like curiosity. Waiting, John realizes, for him to back down. _Typical_. Everything they do, even sex, starts off like a game to Ollie. He's always testing John, always trying to figure out what will finally trip him up.

To be perfectly honest, this little stunt they're about to pull is pushing the envelope. John doesn't know why Ollie likes being tied up, why he likes being restrained and held down and fucked rough with a hand over his mouth, why cold metal digging into his wrists gets him hard in a matter of seconds. He's forever on the cusp of asking, of refusing to take control just to see how Ollie responds. Of testing him right back, pushing him into those places he just won't go, not with anyone.

Ollie rolls his eyes. "Losing patience here, Dig." John's eyes flicker down to Ollie's crotch reflexively; he can see the hard line of Ollie's shaft pressing insistently against the snug green cotton, a dark, damp spot coloring the tip. He reaches out before he can stop himself and his fingers slide between Ollie's waistband and pale, smooth skin. His thumb memorizes the curve of Ollie's pelvic bone; his fingertips travel over short wiry hairs and settle on the tip of Ollie's cock, wet and hot and heavy against his hand. Ollie strains against the cuffs, and his cock swells further.

John takes a deep breath, and in one swift, brutal motion, rips Ollie's briefs open down the front. Ollie smirks, and in two more movements, the briefs lie in pieces on the floor. John jerks his own boxers down and lets his eyes sweep over Ollie's naked body greedily, stretched long and tight with his hands cuffed up high on the chin-up bar, just high enough that he can't quite get his footing. The veins in his forearms are all standing out from the effort it's taking to hold himself up, and there's sweat beading alone his hairline, gathering in the dip between his throat and his collarbone.

John thinks he's pretty fucking beautiful.

“Turns you on, huh?” Ollie leers, licking his lips. “Knew you were a kinky bastard.”

John chokes down a retort, chooses to focus on the dead quiet that's settling behind Ollie's bravado. It scares him every time they start, Ollie's total detachment, even though John knows by now that he'll warm up out of it. Ollie flexes his arms and lifts himself up, baring his teeth in a challenging grin. John's cock jumps against his stomach.

“Ollie,” he says, swallowing and running his thumb over the sticky, half-empty bottle of lube. “I need to make sure – “

“For fuck's sake, _yes_ , okay?” Ollie snaps, releasing his elbows and letting his body snap back down. John winces at the sound it makes. “Yes, I unrepentantly want you to get over here and fuck me stupid. This isn't news. I'm tired of saying it.”

“Sorry,” John murmurs, breathing out and stepping forward so their bodies are lined up neatly. Ollie shifts his hip forward, brushing their cocks together, and John shudders a little at the sensation. He reaches forward and grips Ollie under his hip, tight and unforgiving. “Some things aren't negotiable.”

“Well, if you're done filing the paperwork,” Ollie says sarcastically. His body's gone limp; pink lines forming around his wrists where the cuffs are digging in. John knows this is his cue. He gets no resistance when he grabs Ollie firmly under his ass and hoists him up until Ollie's thighs are wrapped around his waist and Ollie's heels are digging into the back of his legs.

Ollie grunts and shifts so that the head of John's cock is pressing into his crack, hot and damp with sweat. John bites his tongue to avoid moaning out loud and tightens his hold on Ollie's ass, flipping open the top of the lube with his other hand. He loves the feeling of Ollie's body flush against his; he wants to kiss him, wants to bite his earlobes and the soft flesh under his jaw, wants to feel the scrape of stubble against his teeth. He knows Ollie won't let him though, not yet. They have to go through the motions first. 

Ollie holds himself up, rocking gently against John's cock while John slicks his fingers and slides them over Ollie's shaft, behind his balls, circling his hole. He strokes wet stripes up between Ollie's cheeks, all the way to dimples in his lower back – one of John's favorite places on Ollie's body to worship – and back again, slow and deliberate, not yet penetrating, just circling and circling.

“Keep going,” Ollie says in a tight voice as John massages the space behind his balls with the pad of his thumb. “I'll tell you when.”

He leans forward as he continues stroking around Ollie's hole and sucks a mark onto Ollie's collarbone. The bruise that blooms there is interrupted by a slice of scar tissue, and John feels his cock leak a little at the sight. “Not yet,” Ollie whispers, arching backward and letting out a shuddering breath. “Not yet, don't you fucking – don't you dare.” His legs are tensing spastically, his cock twitching between them. John's mouth is dry; he'd give anything to just throw Ollie across the table and suck him off ferociously. The lube is dripping down Ollie's thighs, John's hand is shiny with it - “Okay,” Ollie hisses finally, clenching his teeth. “Now.”

“God, fuck,” John mutters, crooking a finger and sliding it easily in. Ollie moans and presses his head to John's shoulder – and this, _this_ is what John's been looking for. Maybe his whole life he's been looking for it. With two fingers rubbing out a rhythm against Ollie's prostate, Ollie's guard discarded on the floor besides the remains of his underwear, hot breath coming unevenly against his chest, making him sweat with sheer _want_ , John feels more present and wide awake than he's ever felt in his life. It's the feeling he thought he'd get in Afghanistan, that ultra-awareness, an emergence of something beyond his five senses. He used to think he'd find his place in the world tracking rockets and snipers, not tracking Ollie's pulse hammering on the inside of his thigh. It's not totally unlike a warzone – they _do_ fight, they _do_ save people, but lately, the only person John's been worried about saving is Ollie.

It's disconcerting, or it would be, if he could focus on formerly held ethics while knuckle-deep with three fingers inside Ollie, opening him up in every way, feeling to his bones that he's right where he's meant to be. Lube is starting to leak out – Ollie's as slick and prepped as he's ever going to be, but John continues sliding his fingers in and out in a steady massage, waiting for Ollie's word.

“ _Please_.”

John spends roughly three seconds slicking himself from base to tip and lines himself up. “You feel good,” he rumbles, stuttering out a sigh as the head of his cock slips past Ollie's rim. “Really, really fucking good.” He grabs Ollie's ass with slippery palms and pulls them together, pausing to catch his breath once he's sheathed all the way inside. Like always, it's too good to be real; the tight, enveloping heat, the pressure that sucks him in and then pushes him back out, fucking against him before he's even collected himself enough to start moving.

Ollie pulls back suddenly and looks at him. He says, “Mean it.”

His voice is wrecked, pupils blown, eyes overbright. John takes all this into account, and kisses him.

It's slow at first, even though they've both been hard and desperate for what seems like forever. John's hands slip on Ollie's thighs and hips, making Ollie sink further onto him with every other thrust. His tongue is inside Ollie's mouth when Ollie smiles and says, “Use your legs, Dig, c'mon,” and John rams into him, making the handcuffs rattle, making them both lose track of their breathing. 

John doesn't realize he's closing his eyes until Ollie's teeth at his shoulder catch him by surprise, and when he opens them, he almost loses it right there. Seeing Ollie's hands, twitching and clawing at the empty air, wrists raw and red, cock tight and flushed against his stomach, shiny with lube and come, his ass, with John's cock disappearing into it – it's all too good, he's too close. His vision is watery, he says, “Almost – _fuck_ , Ollie, I'm gonna – “

“John,” Ollie says against his neck. It's almost a whimper, he's trembling in John's arms, and John presses their bodies together closer as his orgasm starts to hit, feeling Ollie's abdominal muscles tight against his, the full-body clench that he knows means Ollie is right there with him.

Two more thrusts, and they're both done for. Hot liquid spills onto his stomach as his cock makes its final valiant motions inside Ollie, pouring into him, squeezing tears out of John's eyes from the sheer relief of it. Ollie's breath is ragged against his throat, sides heaving, and John feels his full weight for the first time since they started. His arms are aching, he wants to let go, but he won't. With shaking fingers, he manages to lift the key from its hanging place on the chin-up bar and stretches up, releasing the clasp on the cuffs. Ollie's wrists tumble out; he's lead in John's arms, even as his feet slide to the floor.

They make it three whole steps together before collapsing onto a wrestling mat, and John finds himself holding onto Ollie longer than he thinks is allowed. He doesn't speak, doesn't even clear his throat, he knows Ollie will eventually – 

“So, this is cozy.”

John sighs and releases his grip on Ollie's back, letting him roll over so that their bodies are no longer touching. “Didn't hear you complaining a few minutes ago.”

“Please,” Ollie scoffs. “I was cuffed. Not my fault your most depraved hungers for my body involve cuddling.”

John doesn't reply. He doesn't have to. He can hear the lack of conviction behind Ollie's words, and right now, that's enough. The unsettling quiet about him is gone; the real Ollie is bubbling under the surface now. John closes his eyes so he won't be tempted to turn and stare.

Ollie says, “Christ, I need a shower,” but he doesn't get up.

“This whole room needs a shower,” John replies dryly. He doesn't move either.

After several more minutes, John almost starts at a warm press on his wrist, and then realizes that it's Ollie's hand. He cracks open an eye, but Ollie is looking determinedly away.

It's a start, anyways. Of what, John isn't sure, but it's heading someplace they haven't been before, and he's known for some time now that he'd follow Ollie anywhere.


End file.
